In Your Head
by Nerweniel
Summary: 1945, the war is over and Albus Dumbledore has managed to destroy the Dark Lord Grindelwald. The world is saved, but who will save Albus himself from the aftereffects of his victory? ADMM
1. Één

**In Your Head**

**Één**

That particular morning, it took the young, black-haired witch with her intelligent, green eyes five minutes to realize that she had finished her toast and was nibbling on her fingers. It took her another minute to absent-mindedly remove the tip of her long braid form her cup of coffee- and yet less than another one to return to her intense reading and re-reading of the already slightly yellowish newspaper article lying in front of her.

She'd read the line atop of the page over and over again, not really believing it, but knowing that she had to. It couldn't be a gossip- this was The Daily Prophet, and even though Minerva didn't like all reporters of that particular newspaper too dearly, she had to admit that they would never lie about something like this. Along with that, of course, Minerva realized bitterly, it was also the perfect explanation for quite a few of her unanswered letters.

She didn't have to raise her head and look up at the calendar on her wall to realize that it had been six years, six years to the spot, that she had first met him. Her Auror training had only been half completed by then, but an acute lack of trained forces along with her status as youngest Animagus of the century had incited Alastor Moody- Head Auror of the Ministry- to invite her to a meeting nonetheless.

She'd been very excited on that day- the fifteenth of October 1939, mere days after her nineteenth birthday- as she had, rather nervously, hat firmly planted atop of her black-haired head, ascended the stairs leading to the place she was heading to- one of the larger halls of the Ministry of Magic. He had come running down those same stairs- and only her quick, literally cat-like, reflexes had prevented the both of them from tumbling down. Her hat had fallen, though, and in a vain attempt to grab it, one velvet-clad knee had rather nastily hit one the marble stairs.

Tears had sprung into her eyes, but she had managed to keep them back. In fact, she'd just been about to throw a rather snappish reply into her "attacker's" face, when a polite and rather concerned apology came, along with a helpful arm to help her to her feet again.

"Thank you, Sir, I will be able to stand on my own now."

Polite apology or not, after all, the fact that her knee damn hurt would not become an excuse for weakness now. It wasn't weakness which had brought Minerva McGonagall to where she was - and it would certainly not be weakness with which she would start this meeting, this meeting which could become so very important for the future she knew she had to build for herself.

An amused twinkle slipped into the man's vivid, blue eyes, and for some reason Minerva found herself fighting the urge to smile.

"Are you sure, Miss McGonagall? I would not want to be the cause of the death of one of our most promising Aurors-in-Training."

It was at that moment that Minerva realized that the man who'd accidentally almost pushed her off the chairs wasn't just some kind of simply Ministry official. He knew her name- he even knew her position- and with a renewed examining look she looked up to his face. He was older than her by quite a few years, but he was no old man- and his long, auburn hair and beard were only very barely streaked with grey. There were a few wrinkles in his face, but those strangely clear blue eyes immediately dismissed every faint appearance of getting older, or even of middle age.

Minerva found herself smiling and not really knowing why as she, rather ashamed of her somewhat snappish remark of earlier, slightly lowered her head.

"You won't be, Sir. I am perfectly alive. Thank you." she added as, with a few steps and a quick gesture, he offered her her own, fallen, hat.

"And I am very glad you are. Now shall I accompany you to the meeting? I fear it's about to start any minute, and I don't think this is something either of us wants to be late for."

His words had proved to be very true, Minerva bitterly remembered as she sat there at her breakfast table, six years later. It was on that day that the war against Grindelwald had become official- it was on that day that she had received the chance of her life- the chance to continue her Auror Training as a sort of apprenticeship. It would be dangerous, they had told her, but it would be worth it.

It had been worth it. Now, six year after date, she was a full blown Ministry Auror, celebrated and honoured after the war had ended- the war which Albus had won in the end. Albus.

She half-closed her eyes. It had been months since she'd last seen him, back in Germany. The morning of the last battle it had been, that he had last smiled at her, that she had last talked to him- that they had last shared-

What had happened the previous night had, perhaps, been a mistake of both of them- that Minerva did not know. But she, from her side, had been prepared to fight for it anyways- and then he had all of a sudden disappeared.

Only then, Minerva realized that she held the answer to all her questions of the previous months in her left hand.

"ALBUS DUMBLEDORE: WAR HERO GONE CRAZY?"


	2. Twee

**Twee**

"Albus Dumbledore? I'm sorry, Miss, but we have been asked to not give anyone admission to his rooms. We have had many problems with the press lately."

Now Minerva had gotten her temper quite under control during the past few, disciplined, years- but the nothing less than arrogant expression on the plump Mediwitch's face along with her own fears and worries were almost too much.

Almost- because right as the young, black-haired witch parted her lips in order to utter a rather snappish reply, a familiar, cool, soothing came to rest against her shoulder, and instinctively, Minerva closed her mouth.

"Annabel, it's okay, I know her. She's one of his best friends, a Ministry Auror too- Minerva McGonagall, surely you have heard the name? I will take her to him, I daresay that if anyone should gain entrance…"

Now Minerva usually wasn't too fond of people having heard her name before or recognizing her- she'd always sought to avoid fame as much as possible- but for the first time in her life, the young Auror had to bow for its advantages. Even though the Mediwitch didn't really seem to like this apparent "undermining of her authority", she did step aside, and even gave Minerva something faintly resembling a polite nod as she passed, along with Poppy.

"You saved me there, Pops- thank you."

"I daresay I rather saved Annabel than you, Min."

Minerva couldn't but smile at the teasing look in her friend's light blue eyes- but then became serious again as Poppy came to rest a comforting hand against her shoulder.

"Poppy, is it true?"

Her friend's heart-felt sigh more than confirmed the Daily Prophet's news- and yet Minerva only fully believed it as she saw the twinkles in her usually so merry friend's eyes disappear.

"I fear it is, Minerva. I'm sorry."

The young Auror hardly stirred, though- and it was with a brisk nod and a nearly imperceptible quickening of her pace that Minerva continued her path.

On the inside, though, there was no peace. There wasn't even a trace of the steady determination her outside appearance seemed to show- no calmness, no brisk nod which apparently always managed to make everything alright again.

Minerva had namely discovered something very peculiar years before- something, which she anxiously kept a secret- and it was, that that brisk nod didn't help- not even in the least.

It was a mannerism, a habit of hers- but then again only just that. It didn't help her, except in that way that it highly effectively hid her feelings for the rest of the world, something Minerva had somehow always valued quite a lot. But that was all.

It didn't keep her from wondering, it didn't keep her from fearing, and it certainly did not keep her from crying- with that great and crucial difference, that Minerva's tears were inner tears, buried and hidden for the eyes of the world- but not less hurt, not less painful, and certainly not less present.

Often people made the mistake of overlooking those concealed tears of Minerva- but she did not complain, because that was the mistake she wanted them to make. Her inability to show any weakness was natural- unhealthy, perhaps, but natural- and she could not fight it- or not yet.

Only once before had she let that carefully built up mask of hers down- only once, and that day- night- had only occurred mere months before. Minerva bit her lips in a vain attempt not to feel the pain at the happy memory of that night- of its miracles- of its promises, but found herself failing horribly.

She had truly believed in a future for her- for them- on that night- in fact she had, for the first time ever, that something like a future, a happy one, could ever exist for her.

An orphan before her sixth birthday, brought up in an orphanage which could provide for everything except love, Minerva had always had a somewhat fatalistic view on the years to come. Part of that was the reason why she had decided to start Auror training as well, of course, for though brave and very intelligent, Minerva had never been the one for caution and peace.

She had only realized the reason behind that apparent indifference towards caution as it had been too late already. She had never had someone to care about or to worry about- until he had come. And he had come, ever-present and confusing, yet kind and with that twinkling wink always near-present in those wondrous eyes of his- both eager and capable to make her smile.

She had learnt to feel caution because of his presence in her life, on that very night- on the night of the day that he had left again.

And here she stood, months later, worried and uncertain of herself- and hating it to the point where she didn't know whether it had all been a dream or not, simply because that she wanted to believe.

Minerva released a breath she didn't know she was holding as she leant a hand against the white, disgustingly- sterile- door which would bring her to him.

After a short knock, she entered- and she knew Poppy had been right.


	3. Drie

**Drie**

The room was painted white, just like its door had been. Minerva was nearly blinded by the heavy reflection of the early afternoon sunlight against the walls- and for some reason this typical, yet so cold colouring nearly scared her more than the prospect of seeing the man in the obviously occupied bed in the corner of the room. It was thus with a determined step, not in the least tentative or hesitant, that she stepped forwards mere seconds later- only to look down on him and watch- only to watch.

The mere situation of being speechless had not often before occurred to the calm, pulled-together Miss Minerva McGonagall- nor had the concept "being unable to move" ever had any meaning for her- and yet now, all of a sudden, it had.

It was, she decided, not so much the idea of seeing Albus lying, weak and wounded, in a hospital bed. She'd had time enough to get used to that one, after all, and after having expected him to be dead, it had been a relief at that. Even now Minerva, as inexperienced in Healing Magic as she most certainly was, knew by one single look at the man in the bed that- physically- he would once be entirely alright again.

What frightened her, though- what rendered her speechless and dumbfounded, was the look in his eyes.

Minerva had seen many, many emotions mirrored in those eyes of his- those bizarre, yet warm, pools of an unknown blue liquid. She'd seen them stir for joy- she had witnessed them cry for sadness… she had allowed her own, green eyes to lock with them as they swirled with anger- but never, never before had she witness emptiness in them.

Never. She'd never imagined emptiness to be possible in those eyes, too, because even though some sides of Albus would always remain a mystery to her, one fact about him had she realized very soon in their friendship. And that was, that Albus's life lay not in his gestures, in his words or in his heart- it lay in his eyes. Those same eyes which were so very empty now.

But he was not dead, and that she realized, too, for his chest rose with every breath he took, and air escaped his slightly parted lips as Minerva gently took a place on a chair next to his bed. He seemed to sleep and perhaps in a way he did- and yet there were those eyes, opened and empty, staring at the ceiling, at the wall, at everything but her- and Minerva couldn't but remember another time.

When he had looked at her with exactly those beautiful, blue eyes of his- when they had shone with kindness, with- did she dare to say it- love for her, and for her alone- when they had, without speaking one word, gently caressed her and asked her for permission and when they had gained that permission, too.

"We found him like this, Minerva. He was transported here right away, seems to be asleep right now, but we have noticed he never closes his eyes. Sometimes he speaks- and we fear the hexes of the fight have caused permanent brain damage."

Poppy's voice sounded almost automatic as she repeated the medical details of her patient for about the hundredth time- yet she, unlike most people, knew Minerva McGonagall well enough to read the hurt she did not show, and gently rested a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"I am so sorry, Min. I know you- cared about him."

Her last words were deliberately diligently chosen, as she know her friend did not like to have her emotions displayed too openly- but Minerva was way too far gone to even notice.

"It's okay, Poppy. Can I- talk to him for a while? Stay with him for a bit?"

"Of course."

As soon as her friend had closed the door of the hospital room behind her back, Minerva finally, finally allowed her pent up emotions to find some sort of outlet- but not through tears. All the young Auror permitted herself was a very deep, frustrated sigh- and even that was a lot already.

Covering his left hand, resting atop of the sheets, with her own right one, Minerva looked down on the man she had loved in secret for almost six years, only to see his body, and not the soul she had so desperately been in love with. As suddenly, it stirred, she nearly retreated her hand- yet then found back her so well-known Gryffindor courage and simply stroked his hand as, apparently, he woke up.

"What are you doing here?"

It was a pretty logical question in the given circumstances, of course, but still it somehow disturbed Minerva. Even though the question wasn't asked in a rude manner- more as if he was somehow… worried- it was still a very direct one, and Minerva did think Albus loved her better than this.

"I- I'm visiting you, Albus. You were wounded during your fight against Grindelwald, remember?"

His frown seemed so sincere- so Albus, so true- and for a short moment, Minerva really thought it was all going to be alright. And yet then he spoke up- and every word cut straight through her heart.

"Don't be so silly, Miss. You'd better leave this place, by the way, it is not safe here. The Auror camp is right behind that bush, and the Lord Grindelwald's troops can't be too far away from here either."

Still he seemed sincere, honest, and truthfully worried about her welfare- and yet Minerva couldn't keep one, angry tear from rolling down her cheek as she shook her head in frustration.

"No, Albus, he is dead! You defeated him, don't you remember?"

At these words of hers, a change came over the man's features- and for a moment, Minerva felt hope again but then, as he spoke up again, she found herself being broken all over again.

"No, Mother, I swear I did not "defeat" Aberforth. I daresay he is just in his room, playing with that goat of his."

"Albus, I am not your mother, I am Minerva!"

Her pleas went unheard, though- for the babbling went on, and on, and on- and even though she was sure it was undoubtedly Albus speaking, she knew he was definitely confused. Times, places, persons, facts- everything seemed so complicated to him, and yet so damned clear at the same time.

It broke her heart to see him this way- and yet she vowed to return. For one thing was clearer than ever to her now- and that was, that she loved him. That she had fallen in love with that wonderful man she had known for such a long time, and that she would do everything to retrieve that man. No matter what.

And if he were never to- but no, she must not think like that.

That night, Minerva McGonagall cried herself to sleep for the first time in a very long time.

And dreamt, too…


	4. Vier

**Vier**

_Minerva smiled as she moved her tower over the chess board, quick brain as usual anticipating his next move- and she knew she'd won as, indeed, he moved his queen two squares to the left._

"_Checkmate, Albus."_

_She couldn't keep the tiniest hint of triumph out of her voice as, with a grin, the auburn-haired man sitting opposite her bowed his head and spread his arms in defeat._

"_Alas, my dear, once more you have outwitted this poor old man."_

_A rather unladylike snort was the only answer to his mocking assumption, and with a smile and a swish of her wand, Minerva moved the chess board back to the shelf where it belonged. Leaning back into her chair, the young woman shook her head, a faint, amused smile on her lips._

"_A poor old man without any grey hairs who turns out to be the most powerful wizard of this time? I'm sure."_

_His smile was a true one- yet there was something of an absent expression in his blue eyes, and Minerva found herself slightly leaning forward as an uncharacteristic sigh left the wizard's lips._

"_And yet, Minerva, sometimes I do feel old. I am eighty years your senior, my dear."_

"_And yet, Albus, I have never considered you as a man who could technically be my father or grandfather. You are not a very innocent-grandfatherly type, I fear."_

_Their noses were nearly touching as an uncharacteristically playful grin came over her lips. In his eyes, there was only surprise, though- and question, too, floating somewhere under the surface, in silence._

"_Minerva-"_

"_Albus."_

_Every trace of teasing, of the light atmosphere of an instant earlier, was easily chased away by this one word- by this one word, pronounced softly, like a baby bird flying for the very first time, urged out of the nest by its mother and her natural instinct of necessity. A taste of freedom- a taste of life, and it was exactly that which Albus craved as slowly, gently, Albus rested a tentative hand against the pale, soft cheek of the young witch who had come to mean so very much to him._

"_Minerva."_

_He called out her name as if asking for an answer to all questions asked, being asked or about to be asked- and knew he'd got his answer as tenderly, her lips came to cover his in an embrace of sweet melancholy and adoration._

_Their kiss was one of fever, of ardour- and not the one to be stopped, for both of them knew that, unlike millions of other couples during the thousands of years before, it was possible that they did not "have the time". That they would not have the chance to grow old together- that for them, it was very likely that there would not be a quiet and peaceful tomorrow to think things over properly._

_All they had, and all they were and could be sure of, was their love, and when Albus, moments later, picked the young woman up in his arms, a question for permission obvious in his now endlessly tender blue eyes, Minerva did not have to think. She simply nodded._

_His lips crushing down on hers was all reassurance she needed as gently, she was laid down on his bed, closing her eyes in the process. The tremble of his fingers as they, slowly, almost timidly, started opening the top buttons of the practical, green robe she wore held every single bit of the expectation of one opening the door to the most wondrous and precious gift he had ever craved- and yet all that was totally lost in the sensation of finally- finally- having their lips meeting in the embrace they had both longed for so very badly._

_Every single inch of newly exposed skin was treasured- honoured- worshipped by his lips, and when her robe lay carelessly thrown on the floor in a corner of the room, Minerva was panting lightly, pushing his robes off his shoulders, hands guided by an emotion she had never even thought she would be capable of feeling._

_As- finally- all thoughts of clothes belonged to a faraway and long forgotten past, Albus found himself staring down at the young woman in his bed in wonder and delight- and only one word found its way to his lips in the end._

"_Perfect..."_

_And that, indeed, she was. Albus released a breath he didn't know he was holding as he took in the sight of the young, Scottish woman- skin pale and glimmering, almost translucent in the moonlight, long, black hair spread out under her head, eyes closed in something very close to a delirious anticipation- breath quickening considerably as Albus tenderly allowed his hand to touch the top of her left breast._

_As his mouth covered hers again, he could feel her smile against his lips and her hands drew circles on his bare back, sensuously and gently, and it was with a voice more hoarse than usual that he spoke up again, forehead leaning against hers in the darkness of the room._

"_Minerva, are you sure of this? We can- we can always-"_

_Her teasing smile along with the drops of sweat on her forehead convinced him just as much as her words as slowly, she shook her head._

"_I don't think we can, Albus."_

_As he realized she was referring to the none too subtle pressure against her left thigh, the most powerful wizard of his age coloured crimson as if he were a girl of four. _

"_Minerva…"_

"_Yes, Albus. My answer is yes."_

_They were finally, finally united sheer moments later, and as Albus looked into Minerva's eyes, finding there only longing and adoration, he knew he had made the right decision- he knew they had both made the right decision._

_As they quickened their pace, proving their obvious mutual love once more and once more on the stairway to heaven, there was no war anymore, no pain, no danger- only love, and to that love they were paying tribute._

_The pent up expectation inside of both of them exploded mere seconds later, and they were still muttering the other's name as, finally, they cuddled up to each other beneath the light, summer sheets of the bed._

_A memorable night indeed…_

And yet it was with tears in her eyes that Minerva woke up.


	5. Vijf

**Vijf**

"I love you, I love you!"

The black-haired witch bitterly cried as the only reply to her desperately yelled words came, though, in the form of an ear-deafening silence echoing and echoing through the cold, dark rooms of her flat.

'I love you! I goddamn love you, Albus! Hear me, then- hear me!"

Her fists dug deep into the soft material of her pillow as her voice grew hoarse with ire and despair, only fading into nothing again to make place for her sobs, too intense to be heard, too passionate to have a sound.

As she curled up into a tight, silent ball of madness, chin resting atop of her knees, eyes closed as if to keep her tears from staining the bedclothes even more, Minerva McGonagall heard her own whisper pierce through the pitch black night.

"I'm in love with a madman."

It was the truth, she knew- the utter and undiluted truth and yet she could repeat it over and over again to herself- it did not change anything. It did not change her feelings, nor their intensity, their truth- it did not change her despair.

It only cut deeper, burnt harder- it only wounded her more.

Sleep did not come easy that night.

And yet at some point it did- for at eight o'clock the next morning, Minerva found herself, sleepy yet at the same time horribly awake, entering that sterile, terribly white room- only to find the man she loved way too much staring at her with eyes so empty it was nearly unbearable.

"Good morning, Albus."

Her soft, alto voice lacked every trace of the forced cheerfulness she refused to use, and yet it was not sad either. It reflected the state of her mind more perfectly than even she herself realized- for there was no sadness anymore. She had cried and cried that night, she had yelled and fought herself.

She had lost in the end- and no sadness, no anger was left- just that deep despair which was hard to explain and which came in the darkness, unexpected- quick to surprise and slow to be surprised.

As she crouched down next to his bed, she allowed one finger to softly trace the lines on the inside of Albus's hand. How she remembered those hands- when they had held her, when they had- when they have loved her.

But that was the past, she had to remember- and with a gentle squeeze, she released his hand again, tenderly laying it down atop of the white, thin sheets.

"Albus, I miss you."

He smiled, and for a moment she had the feeling her heartbeat stopped. A slight fluttering inside of her stomach pierced straight through her heart as his blue eyes- just for a moment- twinkled as they had always done- and yet when he spoke up, it was over.

"Grandmother, I know you didn't want me to leave for Hogwarts, but Aber is still here, isn't he? He'll visit you, often, I promise!"

Minerva very nearly started crying as sincere worry shone from his eyes- sincere worry, though, which she knew was not aimed at her. She knew it was the worry of a young grandson for his aging grandmother- and part of her wanted to yell, to rage- to curse, but at the same time she knew she was not being fair.

"I'm not your grandmother, Albus."

But her whisper was too silent, her words too softly spoken to pierce through the thick fogs now occupying her once lover's mind. The babbling went on and on, and Minerva found herself listening to it, tears in eyes yet knowing that listening was the only thing she could do for him at the moment- and after all, she would still do everything for him.

The soft pressure of her hand on his was the only tenderness she could provide him with now- and even as she said goodbye again, she contented herself with a mere, soft kiss pressed against his cheek.

"I know you don't know me, Albus. I know you perhaps never will- but that doesn't mean that I will not love you anymore."


	6. Zes

**Zes**

When Minerva arrived home, mere minutes later, the first- and main- thing she noticed was a letter, yellowish, addressed to her in a clear, dark blue handwriting which she vaguely recognized, lying right where it had been delivered, on her kitchen table. The late afternoon sunlight lightly touched the material of the envelope and suddenly, despite the cosy surroundings which she knew so very well, Minerva could not ignore the feeling of slight distress which had suddenly popped up low in her stomach.

"And what is this, I wonder?" the young Auror muttered out loud before, with a slight, inexplicable feeling of fear, taking a closer look at the envelope. As the letter she took out of it happened to bear the crest of Hogwarts in the upper right corner, a slight sigh of relief left Minerva's thin lips- a sigh immediately balanced by her next, sharp, intake of breath.

"Professor Dippet- you can't do this to me- you simply can't."

Leaning her black-haired, now ruffled head on her arms in an uncharacteristically emotional gesture, Minerva bit her lips- hard. Only as a small stream of blood ran down her chin and she tasted its salt on her lips did she look up again.

What lay in front of her, she knew, was her dream. Her dream of years within the reach of her hands- all she had to do was grasp it… and yet at the same time she knew very well that exactly that she could not, never, do. She could never accept Armando Dippet's offer- for that would mean giving Albus up, and had she not said mere minutes earlier that exactly that she would never do?

"Professor, I'm sorry, but you must see that- I can't. Not possibly- not ever."

It was with a trembling hand that she took up the quill always lying atop of her desk- and it was with nothing less than shaking fingers that she started writing a polite, yet definitely negative reply.

"Dear Professor Dippet,

I am very honoured by your offering me the position of Transfiguration Teacher at Hogwarts, but alas I feel I must decline. My personal feelings about the matter of Professor Dumbledore's illness do not permit me to accept your offer, no matter how much I have always wished for a position as a Hogwarts teacher.

I will be honest with you, Professor- I love Professor Dumbledore. I have been in love with him since before that blasted war started, and he was in love with me, too. And though he does not even remember me anymore now, I have the feeling I need to stay close to him. I am sorry.

Very sincerely,

Minerva Caitríona McGonagall"

A new envelope and a little burgundy wax closed the letter away from prying eyes- and already Minerva felt hot tears dripping down her cheeks. It was all so unfair- so damn, damn unfair. She had never loved or been loved before- not ever had she strayed from her right, clear path of efficiency, or seriousness- she had never looked for love and thus never missed it, but somehow there had, always, been a deep loneliness inside of her- a loneliness which she had always considered just a part of that personality, until he had come.

Though in a way, Minerva had always stayed the loner she used to be, he had shown her, guided her into, another way of life. It had lasted such a very short time, but it had been there, and she had, finally, felt accepted, felt loved.

With a sigh, Minerva covered her eyes with hands, shaking her head in the process.

Deep down, she knew that the chances that she'd ever get Albus, her Albus, back were slim. Deep down, she realized that he, her Albus, would have wanted her to move on- and yet just as deep down, she knew that she would never be able to do such a thing.

One cannot control one's emotions, Minerva realized at that very moment- just as well as she realized that accepting that fact had always been her greatest weakness.

This time, though, she would accept it. She couldn't alter, she couldn't lessen what she felt for Albus Dumbledore- and perhaps she never would.

It was with another sigh that she attached her letter to Dippet to the leg of her owl- and as she watched the small, grey spot against the darkening sky grow smaller, a faint, bitter smile played around the corners of her mouth.

"Bring my letter to Dippet, Morag- and make it clear to him that I love Albus Dumbledore. And this will never change."


	7. Zeven

**Zeven**

"Miss, I'm sorry, but it's getting later…"

The young Mediwitch Annabel, plump and still clearly embarrassed because of her mistake of days earlier, stood in the door-opening, cheeks fiery red, watery blue eyes uncertainly scanning Minerva's face. The black-haired Auror smiled, though- she had forgiven Annabel days ago. Unwillingly yet surely getting up from her chair, she cast the other woman a short nod.

"I know, Annabel. I should be going home."

And go home she did. Once more greeting the already sleeping man in the bed with a couple of tender, desperate words which she knew very well he did not understand, the woman- once more- turned her back towards him and then, feet stepping away in a slow, almost melancholic rhythm even she herself didn't notice, pulled the door shut behind her back. Once more.

Arriving home that night was a very lonely experience indeed- but then again it always was, and despite it all, Minerva was very glad when, finally, she could sink back into the dark red cushions of her comfortable couch. Leaning back her head against the thick velvet, a sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes.

It all felt so useless. _She_ felt so useless. The man she loved, her Albus, was lying in that bed in the hospital, suffering, losing his mind more and more- for she did not see any improvement whatsoever- and all she could do was sit beside him and, if she was lucky, hold his hand. Which, she had to admit to her own, rational self, did not help a single bit.

It frustrated her.

It was at exactly that moment that she spotted- once more- a letter, lying really quite obviously atop of her kitchen table and once more she couldn't but feel a vague sense of worry as, again, she recognized the Hogwarts crest on the envelope.

_Dippet. Again. _Minerva realized wearily. Hadn't she made her choice clear enough then? A slight feeling of irritation at the man's obvious perseverance wrinkled her forehead- yet the young woman started to read- and immediately wished she had not.

"My dear Minerva,

Though I do understand your feelings for Professor Dumbledore and realize that you find yourself in a highly uncomfortable situation here, I would like to ask you to- please- not immediately reject my offer. You are a young, intelligent, ambitious woman, and a job of Hogwarts is, in my opinion, definitely a good career option for you to consider.

Furthermore, I will equally honest with you as you were with me. Since I am both a man and in less of an… emotional relationship with Albus, the Healers have a tendency to be more honest about his condition with me than with you, and I can tell you this; things do not look very good for him, Minerva. You are an intelligent woman, you must have noticed that there is no improvement yet and with every passing day, the chances of him ever recovering grow slimmer and slimmer.

I am not telling you this to break your heart, my dear- but I am telling you this before I think a woman like you should know. I don't believe in women having to be "protected" from this sort of news- and I would especially hate seeing you, you of all women, waste your life like this while- and I mean this- I am sure Albus would want you to live instead.

Minerva, as an ex-teacher of yours, I beg you to think it over.

Very sincerely,

Armando Dippet"

It was with tears in her eyes that the young, black-haired Auror covered her face with her hands, sinking down on the sofa again.

What was she supposed to do _now_?


	8. Acht

**Acht**

_To Rikki, as a characteristically wild cuddle and a big thanks for a week I will most definitely never forget. Dear Be Frie, washbear, sponge, in short: mummy, thank you._

Sleep was an unknown luxury to Minerva that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face- every time she opened them again, exactly the same thing happened. It frustrated her in a way- and it made her desperate in another. She had always been able to suppress what was in her heart to the benefit of what was in her mind- and yet suddenly, exactly that act had become impossibly difficult.

And it sickened her. It sickened Minerva that when she turned around beneath the thin bed sheets, she felt her own sweat soaking her nightgown- it sickened her that when she sat up to take a sip of water, the tears from her eyes mingled with the fluid dripping down her forehead. Most of all, though, it sickened her that the drawers of her head, the drawers of her heart, had been opened at last after years and years of peaceful closure- and the contents had been spilled. And she, organized Minerva McGonagall, could for the first time in her life not see order in the chaos.

It _frightened_ her.

Another turn and a few mighty kicks of her feet against the mattress later, Minerva settled her dark-haired head into the pillow with a nod- filled with a determination she did not feel. A decision had to be made- had to be made soon, and Minerva had always been good with decisions. That was a fact.

Unfortunately, she thought with heartfelt sarcasm, facts didn't really seem to matter anymore.

It was a different Minerva McGonagall who stepped into St. Mungo's the next morning- and not just on the inside- on the outside as well. Her face, though still pretty, had grown harder over one night- as if her usually delicate futures had suddenly been set in marble and had somehow failed to acquire the serenity that was so inherent to that particular material.

Her hair, deprived of its usual wave, was held back, not in a braid but in the bun that would later become the young woman's trademark- and her eyes were, for the very first time, more grey than green as she greeted the young nurse called Annabel with a calm nod.

"Good morning."

Her way towards _his_ room was undisturbed, the way it usually was- yet it was only as she heavily leant one arm against the doorpost and was greeted by a merry, be it sleepy, "Mother! How are you feeling today?" a grim smile enfolded on Minerva's lips.

"Quite frankly, I am not that well, Albus. How are you?"

"Why, I am fine, of course, but what is wrong with you, mother- is it your rheumatism again?"

The worry in his eyes was genuine- it pained her- yet Minerva could not stop a dry chuckle from escaping her lips.

"No, my dear, dear Albus. It is not my rheumatism. I have to say goodbye to you, Albus. That's what's wrong."

For a moment, she believed he really understood what she said- yet then, the blur she had so become used to descended again over his no longer sapphire blue eyes- and as he spoke, she bitterly smiled.

"Goodbye? Mother- I don't understand…"

As Minerva bowed over him and pressed a kiss to his forehead, the auburn-haired man suddenly shut up. It was at that moment that, for the first time, the black-haired witch's marble façade was broken for a moment- as she smiled, nearly tenderly.

"Some things you just cannot understand yet, my Albus. But one day- one day you will. I still believe that. Good-bye."

As her dark green dress disappeared from the sight of the man on the bed, though, Minerva McGonagall made the mistake of not turning around, of not looking back.

Perhaps if she had- if she had, for the last time, cast a gaze at his lying form- if her eyes had locked with his once more- perhaps in that case she would have seen the sapphire flicker which was, just for a split second, painfully visible in his eyes.

Perhaps.


	9. Negen

**Negen**

_My sincere apologies for the ghastly delay, have been occupied with my notorious novel (ahem) and with Oxford stuff that is now- hopefully- alright. Thanks to everyone who bore with me and thanks to everyone who's still reading this._

Minerva decided to go to Hogwarts by broom; it had been a while since she had last flown, after all- and maybe the winds blowing around her head would finally chase all her thoughts away. She wasn't even disappointed when it didn't work.

She didn't want to forget, after all. She didn't want to forget what they had shared, what they had said, how he had looked at her- but she did not want to forget, either, how he had lain there, how his blue eyes had been empty, and worse still- how they had quit being empty in the end.

No, Minerva McGonagall did not want to forget. She had seen, she had seen in the very condition of the man she loved how horrible it was to forget things- however hurtful they were, however sad. She did not want to forget a thing- except, perhaps, that thought that kept on bothering her. It was the thought of how things could have been.

Still, when the castle of Hogwarts appeared on the horizon, Minerva found herself smiling- and wishing that things could stay exactly the way they were at that moment. And maybe they would; Maybe the sun would freeze against the sky, maybe the castle and all its inhabitants would stand still- maybe the day would never turn into night again, and she… maybe she would never have to land again.

But that wish, the young witch decided a moment later, was the product of mere cowardice and not worthy of a Gryffindor. Armando counted on her, now, and she would not break her promise to the Headmaster.

When she entered the castle, for a split second she felt like a student again- but that thought brought too many hurtful memories along and she pushed it away, forcing a smile on her face as she noticed the rather short, bony figure of Headmaster Dippet walking in her direction.

"Minerva, my child!"

Being hugged by Armando Dippet was a rather unreal feeling, Minerva decided a moment later- and not just because the man was about two inches shorter than she was. It was not unpleasant, but she knew the man meant it as a means of comfort- and it did not comfort her, not in the least.

It merely reminded her of the fact that she had left Albus alone.

Once, they had stood on the battlefield together, side by side, and he had told her that he would never leave her alone- no matter what. She had been surprised and had returned the promise, because it had felt like the right thing to do- and because she had felt she would not live but to keep it.

Now, she had left him alone, as literally as possible- no matter what.

What was her excuse?

"Professor Dippet." the black-haired woman acknowledged with a smile, but still, as she held the short, elderly wizard at an arm's length, she once more felt one particularly nasty question popping up its ugly head inside of her mind.

"_Why does he get to live 'till this age, while Albus…?"_

It was a horrible thing to wonder about, and she was well aware of it, cheeks blushing a dark red as she followed the wizard to the rooms he had had prepared for her. Armando could not help what had happened to Albus- and the question she was asking herself equalled nothing more or less than questioning fate.

But then again, accepting things the way they were had never been one of Minerva McGonagall's strengths.


End file.
